


when a man dies

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:22:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a one-shot of davesprite, and his beautiful tragedy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when a man dies

**Author's Note:**

> [listen along.](http://8tracks.com/rome/yes-i-feel-a-little-bit-nervous)
> 
> first work posted at ao3, bare with me!

It was fun, while it lasted.

To describe the events that took place — the universe’s everlasting conspiracy of a doomed man — to bring him here today, was horribly tiring. He stopped doing so only after a long while of explaining all his efforts to save people, and sessions, and the sessions of people. He liked to push himself to a point, you see, where he’ll gladly stand in place to grin a half-broken smile with his nose turned crooked, all up-right like, and say his few famous words, “ _i can take it_ ”.

Dave sprite was a charitable person. He patted baby chicks, gave them glory kisses and smiled to a nonexistent camera. To be frank, his so-called smiles were moreover smirks of some sort, the kind that had you reluctant to speak just what was on your mind, at the fear of being mocked. Dave sprite would make a terrible truancy officer, yes he would.

( _His name is Dave sprite?  
But I just call him Dave!_ )

Jade Harley was a friend of Dave sprite. So was John Egbert, so was Rose Lalonde. However, it was with Jade Harley that Dave sprite developed a sort of-feelings. Feelings from that turning point in age, when a boy to man just wants to hold a keepsake picture frame of the girl he loves the most, and most of all to be left alone in his room to do just so. These sort of-feelings came, and went. They arrived with realization, they pardoned with death.

When a man dies, though, when a man dies? Nobody cries, really. They shed figurative tears in a metaphoric cesspool of irony, and they rub their eyelids together as though they’ve grown weary of the padded shit they’ve put themselves through. They don't quite realize, they don't entirely notice the bigger picture. Because when a man dies, he takes everything with him. He takes his friends, he takes his clothes. His house, if he has one; his family, if he has any. _Kyrie, eleison_ , it becomes a sad way to go.

Dave sprite was a man. The he wasn’t, then he sort of became one again. Hardly said so, for a little grit-rubble where your chin should be should never be accounted for that. Regardless though, he believed he was one. He always did, no matter what he bared his teeth through, or the calm facade he was always known for putting up at precisely the wrong times. Because of this reason did he keep on fighting, and hold himself liable for any mishaps and mistakes that would be generous enough to show their hesitant face.

Then a time comes. A time when it does hurt like heaven, and all life begins to dim from recurrent words that you thought you'd escape and forgotten and ignored all together. A time when a man can’t die, and he actually cries. 

( _One upon a momentum Dave sprite was Dave Strider.  
He never shed a tear._ )

He cries that realistic sense into you, he sobs tears that melt into the ground and glisten on the skin of his hand. It’s a force of sadness, driven by reality, and forsaken by faith. It starts from the heart and leaves through the eyes, it envelops more of himself than it ever should.

But when a man won’t die, or can die, or does die, it’s only a part of him. It’s a part that’s washed away, that falls through the tides of life, as they drift unto shore. It's a glistening look in his eyes, and it matches the blue crescent waves. There's a difference between forgotten and forever; he's no man in the moon, this man-turned-bird. He's more than that. He's more than everything death brings and takes.

Because the rest of him -- the rest that stays with all those he fought for and with and because of; every person to ever encounter such a sight could only admire in wistful astonishment -- it’s his _legacy_.

( _His name is Dave sprite.  
I remember him._ )


End file.
